


48 Hours

by bloodnuns



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 17:55:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6867397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodnuns/pseuds/bloodnuns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic is based loosely on the voice memo left by Frank on the MCR website when Gerard went missing during the recording of the TCFSR album.</p>
            </blockquote>





	48 Hours

The good thing about being on tour was that no one ever really had a big mess to clean up.  It was just kind of carried from city to city in the van that you and eight of your closest friends and bandmates shared. 

 

The drawback to this was that when you got to go home for a break between tours or to record, you forgot how to clean up after yourself. 

 

Which is why Frank was startled awake by the crackling noise of an empty chip back pressing into his face when he tried to roll over in his sleep. 

 

Leaving the NorthStar tour had been difficult; they didn’t want to stop touring, but playing the same songs over and over again for the last three years had started to wear on them and even Brian had finally gotten tired of sitting side stage for it. 

 

They needed new material, and Frank could tell by the way that Gerard had started drinking more that something was weighing on him. Gerard needed catharsis, and the last two weeks the band spent holed up in the studio/house/practice space that Warner Brothers had rented for them had proved to be that for him. 

 

But Frank knew that it wasn’t enough.

 

Something bigger than a creative block was acting as weights tied to strings knotted to the corners of Gerard’s mouth and pulling downward. There was something bigger than the struggle to write a song that was driving Gerard to tantrums, something bigger than the frustration from lack of food and cigarettes. 

 

But Frank didn’t want everyone to know yet that they were together. 

 

It wasn’t that Frank was scared of his sexuality, or that he was scared of the consequences of ‘coming out’. He just didn’t want it to affect the band. He didn’t want the entirety of his future taken away from him before it had even really begun. He dropped out of college, music was all he had. He was just waiting for a sign that the band wasn’t going to fall apart because he professed his love for the dude with the greasy hair and the body odor issues to everyone and their goddamn mother. 

 

Frank peeled the chip bag from his face and threw it into the floor before finally swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and sitting up fully. The sweat that he was drenched in plastered his t-shirt flush to his torso. He felt gross. He needed a shower. Luckily, because he and Toro were the only ones that did shower on a daily basis, there was only a small chance that the shower was already occupied. 

 

Frank gathered some clothes and the towel that he’d washed yesterday and headed into the bathroom to scrub the night before off of his skin.  As he let the hot water splash onto his head and stream down his face, his mind flashed back to the fight that he and Gerard had had the night before. 

 

_ They’d been in the back room, psuedo-shouting with harsh tones and hushed voices. God forbid anyone hear them. Well, god forbid anyone hear them for Frank’s sake. Gerard had made it clear that he didn’t give a flying fuck and Frank was pretty sure that it was only because of the pained look on his face that Gerard kept any kind of guise of inconspicuous.  _

 

_ “Man the fuck up, Frank,” Gerard had said. _

 

_ “This isn’t about me manning the fuck up and you know it, asshole.” _

 

_ “Then what? What is it about? Are you fucking ashamed of me or something?” _

 

_ That question had blown a hole in Frank’s chest, rendering his lungs useless.  _

 

_ “You-- you fucking know that’s not what it is. This band is all I have left. I love you and you fucking know that, but I can’t lose this. If I lose this then I lose everything.” Frank had started to scramble for ways to explain this for what seemed like the millionth time. _

 

_ Frank slumped onto the couch, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to calm himself down before he said something particularly stupid.  _

 

_ Gerard paced back and forth in front of him. Frank knew that Gerard was avoiding looking at him, and that hurt too. After all, Frank felt like he was making this incredibly difficult.  _

 

_ “You said you understood--,” Frank started, but Gerard cut him off. _

 

_ “I fucking do understand. Or I did. I’m just-- I’m so fucking tired of having to hide it from Mikey. He knows something’s wrong. Or that I’m not telling him something, and he’s getting more and more pissy with me.” _

 

_ “Mikey will understand--,” Frank tried again, and again he was cut off. _

 

_ “That doesn’t fucking mean I like keeping shit from my brother, Frank.” _

 

_ “I know. I just need--” _

 

_ “I know, I know. You fucking need time or whatever. Take it. I’m fucking done with this conversation.” _

 

_ And like that, Gerard had slammed the door behind him. _

 

The water had gone cold before Frank realized that he hadn’t even started washing himself, but he’d taken enough cold showers on the road not to be bothered by it as he lathered and rinsed. 

 

After his t-shirt and cargo shorts were pulled on and his hair was properly towel dried, he exited the bathroom and threw his dirty clothes in the pile that he had started next to his bed. The only thing left to do at this point was practice, and he could tell by the stillness that enveloped all the rooms but the practice room that he wasn’t the only one awake.

 

Frank padded down the hall and as he drew closer to the room that they used as a practice space, he heard the voices of three different men shooting back and forth, agitated. He paused before opening the door, leaning his head against the painted wood so he could hear better. 

 

“What the fuck do you mean he went hiking? We’re in the middle of recording an album.” That vibrato belonged to Otter, in his signature irritated tone. 

 

“I don’t know, that’s just what the note said. Here fucking read it,” Mikey replied. 

 

Frank heard the shuffling of footsteps to which the rhythm could only have belonged to Ray. 

 

“I don’t get it. What’s this part about being the next Morrissey?” Frank could hear Ray turning a paper over in his hands. 

 

“You know how he gets off to that euro-trash bullshit,” Otter interjected. 

 

“Oh, shut the fuck up! You’re not helping.” Mikey started to sound less agitated and more worried. 

 

Frank couldn’t just stand there anymore. He took hold of the doorknob and swung the door open, the thud of it hitting the wall startling the other three as their heads whipped around to see Frank in the doorway.    
  


“Morrissey isn’t euro-trash bullshit, you Shrek looking motherfucker,” Frank joked. 

 

It was half-hearted. He was trying to lighten the mood, but he had no idea what was going on. 

 

“Let me see that.” 

 

Frank walked over and took the paper from Ray, reading it over once, twice, and then a third time just to make sure he was actually reading it all right. 

 

It seemed like everyone in the room was waiting for Frank to speak first, and when he did, he couldn’t help the crack that came from his vocal chords. 

 

“...but Gerard doesn’t hike,” he managed, still staring at Gerard’s handwriting scrawled across the unlined piece of paper that looked like it had been torn out of one of his sketchbooks, “Gerard doesn’t even fucking like being outside, what the fuck is he talking about?”

 

It felt like every phrase that Gerard had written was hitting Frank in a different way. 

 

“Life is a bag of shit? He was just fucking talking about how much he fucking loved this band, what a fucking dickbag.” 

 

Anger.

 

“And now he’s just fucking hiking up the Jersey fuckin’ mountains looking to be the next goddamn Jim Morrison?” 

 

Bewilderment.

 

“We have shit to finish for the record. Did he not fucking remember that before decided to take his little unplanned vacation?” 

 

Nausea. All he could feel now was nausea. It had clicked. 

 

This wasn’t about Gerard going hiking. This wasn’t about Gerard wanting to be the next Jim Morrison. And it sure as fuck wasn’t about life being a bag of shit. 

 

Gerard was giving him the time he wanted. Out of spite. Out of anger. Out of anything but actual fucking concern. 

 

“What a fucking asshole,” Frank said. 

 

He crumpled the paper in his hand and threw it on the ground, turning on his heel and making a bee-line for the door. He needed a cigarette right-the-fuck-now. It took him a minute of throwing his blankets around to find his pack and his lighter, but soon enough he was settling on a step on the back patio and taking a drag of cancerous salvation. 

 

He’d gotten through half of his cigarette in peace when he heard the back patio door slide open and shut again. Frank didn’t have to look up at his face to recognize the knobby knees that belonged to Mikey as he plopped down next to Frank. He offered his cigarette to Mikey out of habit. Mikey didn’t smoke habitually, but he liked to share one with Frank when he knew Frank needed to talk about something. Mikey exhaled a cloud of smoke before he said anything.

 

“It’s not about Morrissey, is it?”

 

“No.” 

“Gee doesn’t really think his life is a bag of shit, does he?”

 

“I hope not.”

 

Frank let his face rest in his hands, too ashamed of himself to let anyone see him this broken up. He was trying like hell to hold on to his anger, because if he held on to his anger then the anxiety and worry wouldn’t consume him. 

 

Mikey spoke again.

 

“Does it have anything to do with the fact that you’re in love with my brother and haven’t told anyone?”

 

Frank looked up then, the whiplash in his neck threatening to constrict even his airways. His mouth went dry as he realized how incredulous Mikey’s face was staring at him. 

 

“How--?”

 

“Are you kidding me? Everyone knows. Don’t be stupid. We knew as soon as Gerard started sitting next to you more in the van than he did me. It’s not like either of you are very good at hiding your feelings.”

 

Frank pulled his knees up to his chest and bounced his head off of his kneecaps a couple times, unbelieving of his own stupidity. 

 

“God fucking damnit. I’m a fucking idiot.”

 

“I mean, I won’t argue with you there, but that’s not what’s important right now.” 

 

Mikey flicked the butt of the cigarette out into the lawn, folding his arms over his chest. 

 

“So even Ray? Otter?--” Frank started.

 

“You really are stupid. Benson even knows,” Mikey replied. 

 

Frank let out an exasperated groan. He was so obvious that even a producer they had met two weeks ago had Frank’s emotions pinned. Fan-fucking-tastic. 

 

“I guess I should call Gerard then. Let him know that the jig is up. That he got his way and he come back. Fucking dickhead.” 

 

Frank rolled his eyes. Gerard could be so melodramatic. 

 

“It’s off,” Mikey said. 

 

“What?”

 

“His phone is off. We’ve been trying to call him all morning.” 

 

_ Fuck. _

 

Mikey shrugged, “I guess we just have to wait for him to come back.” 

 

Frank hated the sound of that. He was awful at waiting. 

 

\-----

 

Frank tried to make use of the time by tracking the last few parts he had to do for the album, but there was only so much productivity he could muster when he was this stressed out. 

 

Eventually he had to just excuse himself to go lie on his bed and try not to think of all the worst case scenarios that threatened to send him into delirium. 

 

_ Think happy thoughts. _

 

_ They were both drunk. Much more drunk than either of them had anticipated on being that night. My Chem had played a show with Midtown and the turnout was so much better than they were hoping. The crowd had sung along and the high from that alone was better than any weed that Frank had ever choked on. _

 

_ “Slow the fuck down, I can’t walk that fast,” Gerard slurred. He was being pulled by Frank to some room backstage that they both knew no one would find them in.  _

 

_ “Hurry the fuck up and you won’t have that problem.”  _

 

_ Frank pulled him into the room and swung to door shut behind Gerard, shutting out the light that had been pouring in at the same time.  _

 

_ It was a mixture of the beer and the adrenaline and the pent up sexual frustration that made Frank push Gerard up against the door that he’d just slammed shut. It was the way that he’d watched Gerard sing the words to the songs that they wrote and the way that watched Gerard’s mouth move when he spoke to Frank that made him want to taste those same words on his lips. It was the way that Gerard walked and danced that made Frank’s hips push into Gerard’s.  _

 

_ Frank knew this had been a long time coming and even though their first kiss tasted like beer and cigarettes, it was his favorite flavor and he didn’t want to taste anything else.  _

 

_ Frank was leaching the salt off the nape of Gerard’s neck and fumbling with the buttons on his shirt when Gerard spoke.  _

 

_ “Someone’s going to walk in--” _

 

_ “Fuck ‘em.”  _

 

_ It was like that that Gerard allowed himself to experience the physical interpretation of Frank’s emotions. Outside of songwriting, he’d never really been very good at expressing himself; but physically he could pull the puppet strings of every emotion within the range of human capacity. It was that night that Gerard understood that Frank had been keeping this from him for a long time. _

 

Frank didn’t realize that he’d fallen asleep until he was jolted awake by someone knocking on the bedroom door. He looked up to see a gangly mass of hair in the crack of the door. 

 

“Hey Frankie, I brought you a sandwich,” Ray said, opening the door the rest of the way. 

 

“Thanks, man.” 

 

Frank sat up and crossed his legs indian style, motioning Ray into the room. 

 

“Heard anything?” Frank asked.

 

“Nah, not yet,” Ray answered, sitting on the edge of Frank’s bed and setting the sandwich in front of him. 

 

The knot in Frank’s stomach twisted tighter. He looked down at the sandwich and picked at the bread, popping a couple pieces in his mouth so that it would look like Frank ate something and no one would have to worry about him. Truth be told, eating only made him want to throw up more. 

 

Ray must have seen the stress painted across Frank’s face.  “I’m sure we’ll hear something by morning. Gerard might be dramatic but he’s not stupid. He probably knows that we’re all worried about him. He’ll check in soon.” 

 

“Yeah,” Frank said. 

 

“I’ll be in the practice space if you need me, dude.” 

 

Ray squeezed Frank’s shoulder reassuringly and left him to stare at his sandwich, dissociation creeping into his bones. 

 

He needed to just go back to sleep. He couldn’t deal with this like a rational fucking human being. Mostly because he wasn’t a rational human being. If he were it wouldn’t have mattered to him what everyone else thought of him and Gerard being together; but it did and now Gerard was god-knows-where in god-knows-what state and it was taking everything Frank could muster to keep the bile from rising in his throat.

 

Frank set his plate on the bedside table and curled back up under the comforter. He couldn’t be awake right now. He couldn’t give himself the consciousness to drive his own mind so far away from sanity; and it must have been the emotional exhaustion that drove him to it, but soon enough he was asleep again. 

 

_ Mikey and Ray had finally given in to Frank’s frantic pleading and they’d gotten together a search party. Otter did nothing but bitch about how it was useless and Gerard would come back when he wanted to, but no one really expected anything else out of Otter.  _

 

_ They started their search on the one hiking trail Frank knew Gerard had gone to in the entirety of his life. About a mile into the trail Frank felt a crunch of something under his shoe that he knew wasn’t a leaf or a twig. He bent down to pick up the bright red PrismaColor marker, now leaking ink onto his fingers that looked sickeningly like something other than ink.  _

 

_ Frank let the broken pieces of marker fall back to the dirt, looking up and around for any sign of a direction Gerard might have gone in.  _

 

_ “We should split up,” he said, standing and looking around at the other three.  _

 

_ “I don’t think that’s such--” Mikey began, but was cut off by Frank. _

 

_ “This trail is fucking huge, we’ll have a better chance of finding him if we split up.”  _

 

_ Mikey, Ray, and Otter all looked at each other, they knew that they wouldn’t be able to talk Frank out of this mindset, so they didn’t try.  _

 

_ “Alright, Ray and I will go this way, Otter you take that direction, and Frank keep going that way,” Mikey directed. “And for christ’s sake keep your phone on you.”  _

 

_ Frank nodded, patting his pocket where his phone was and all but bolting off in the direction he was headed.  _

 

_ A few minutes passed without any sign that Gerard had been there, but as he trudged forward something small and pale blue caught his attention. Frank rushed up to find another marker in pieces on the ground. This one hadn’t been crushed but bitten into, and the ink was still leaking out of the holes made from what looked like very sharp teeth.  _

 

_ Frank felt his heart start to pound in his throat and all of the blood leave his face. God, fuck what was happening? _

 

_ He left the marker where he found it and kept going.  _

 

_ The sky was starting to darken, and he’d have to turn --  _

 

_ He didn’t get through the entirety of that thought as his eyes fell upon a crumpled human shape some 30 feet in front of him. Frank ran, his sneakers barely finding traction over the fallen leaves on the ground as he tried to keep himself upright and moving towards the pile of black stringy hair that he prayed was anyone but Gerard.  _

 

_ He tried to ignore how his stomach flipped as he recognized the blue jeans and the t-shirt. Frank gripped the shoulder of whoever was lying there and turned them over, instantly retracting his hand when he felt something wet cover his fingers. He turned his palm up and noticed that the bright red ink of the marker that had leaked all over him before was washed away by a much darker, much thicker crimson.  _

 

_ That was when he noticed a pair of light hazel eyes open wide and lifeless transfixed on the sky above.  _

 

_ Suddenly he was screaming -- _

 

And Mikey was shaking him. “Wake up!”

 

Frank jumped about seventeen feet out of his own skin, his instantaneous reaction to punch whatever had scared him stopped when he realized who it was. 

 

“Fuck, sorry,” Frank said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and trying to get a grip on reality. 

 

“You were screaming,” Mikey stated, the concern in his voice pulling the corners of his mouth down. Frank shook his head, disappointed in himself that he’d become a cause for worry. 

 

“I’m assuming--”

 

“No, we haven’t heard anything. I called the police station this morning and filed a missing persons. They said just to wait by the phone in case they find anything.” 

 

Frank looked up at Mikey then, his tone pulling Frank out of his own head. He took a moment to examine everything that Mikey’s body language was saying that he wasn’t saying out loud. He could tell that Mikey didn’t sleep the night before, and that he hadn’t eaten in awhile, and the smell coming from him alerted Frank to the fact that Mikey had probably smoked half of Otter’s pack of cigarettes while Frank was asleep. He needed to be there for Mikey. 

 

“Coffee?” Frank asked, already pushing himself off the mattress and in the direction of the bedroom door before his best friend had much time to answer. 

 

“Yeah,” Mikey answered, sounding a little more defeated than Frank would have liked.

 

“C’mon.” 

 

Frank and Mikey sat next to each other at the kitchen table for an hour or so before anyone else stirred. The clock on the stove read 9:13am when Otter stumbled into the kitchen half-asleep dressed in the jeans he’d worn yesterday and a t-shirt that he’d been wearing for the last three days. 

 

Otter poured himself a cup of coffee and exited the kitchen without a word, leaving Frank and Mikey in their mutual silence. 

 

After another fifteen minutes Mikey piped up.

 

“We could put a voice memo up on the website.”

 

_ Fuck _ . Why hadn’t Frank thought of that before? They had a decent amount of fans in Jersey, all of which knew exactly what Gerard looked like. 

 

“Yeah, fuck, that’s a brilliant fucking idea.”

 

A few minutes later and after hashing out some of the details of what he’d say with Mikey, Frank sat in front of the desktop that they shared and recorded the voice message.

 

“Hey guys, it’s Frank from the band My Chemical Romance. This message is very important, but I’m sick so I’m going to make it quick.” What other excuse was he going to use to cover up how stressed out he sounded? “We have a few more songs to do for the record and Gerard said he was going to get to them as quick as possible, but he left two days ago for a hike wearing a black shirt with a grizzly bear on it and we haven’t seen him since.” Frank’s stomach twisted again, the realization that it’d been almost two days since they’d heard anything from Gerard slapping him in the face. “We found a note that says something about being the next Jim Morrison and a--and something about life being a bag of shit. He’s wearing denim yankee blue jeans and black shirt so if you have any information as to his whereabouts please contact the website. Uhh-- talk to you guys later. Peace.” 

 

Frank pressed the stop button on the recording software and there was something about saying all of what he did that broke his resolve. He jumped out of the desk chair and made his way to the bathroom just in time to wretch all of the coffee he’d just had back up and into the toilet. His nose stung and his eyes watered, and he fucking hated Gerard for making him feel like this. 

 

He gave himself a couple minutes perched over the toilet to make sure he wasn’t going to puke again before brushing his teeth and rejoining Mikey, now accompanied by Ray, in the practice space as they put the voice memo up on the website. Frank could tell that Mikey was trying not to fall apart, and that even Ray wasn’t the optimistic ball of sunshine that he usually was. Ray was the one that held everyone together, the one voice of reason when shit hit the fan, but even now Ray couldn’t come up with the words to soothe everyone’s nerves. 

 

Frank was good at one thing, though; he was good at turning his anxiety into anger and expending his anger through playing. So Frank picked up his guitar, and nodded for Ray to grab his, and they spent the next few hours playing through the album over and over again.

 

By the time they were done Frank was covered in sweat, his fingers were on fire, and his wrists felt like someone had driven nails through them. Mikey had spent most of his time curled up on the couch with his nose stuck in a book, and it was assumed that Otter was laid out on the couch watching TV in the living room. 

 

Frank set his guitar down against his amp. He was breathless as he tried to sop up some of the sweat with his t-shirt. 

 

“That was good, dude. We shou--”

 

There was a loud bang of wood on drywall at the front of the house that made the three of them jump. 

 

“Honey! I’m home.” Gerard’s sing-song voice could be heard alongside the giggles of someone else. 

 

Mikey and Ray both got to the living room adjacent to the front door before Frank did, and that was probably a good thing. 

 

Gerard was covered in sweat and dirt and he looked like he’d been lost in the woods for a couple days. Shaun was with him. Shaun; who was one of the bands closest friends before they’d gotten big. Shaun; who knew that Mikey and Frank both had anxiety issues. Shaun; who had always been an awful fucking enabler for Gerard. Shaun; who  _ had a goddamn phone and apparently didn’t know how to fucking use it.  _

 

Everyone stood there for a second staring at each other before Frank shoved past Ray and Mikey and lunged at Shaun, grabbing two fistfuls of his shirt and pinning him against the wall next to the front door. He reared his fist back and connected it with Shaun’s cheekbone, pain shooting up his knuckles and into his wrists. Shaun managed to get his leg between them and kick Frank backwards, making him let go of Shaun’s shirt as he stumbled a couple feet before regaining his balance. That couple of seconds was all Sean needed to swing back with a right hook that Frank didn’t have time to dodge and bust his lip open. Frank had started towards Shaun again when he felt two very sturdy arms wrap around his middle and lift him off the ground.    
  


“Fucking let me go, Ray!” 

 

Mikey had worked his way around Ray was holding Shaun back against the wall.

 

“Yeah Ray,” taunted Shaun, “let him go!”

 

“I’ll fucking annihilate you, you motherfucker!” Frank thrashed against Ray’s grip, but if there was anything Ray had on Frank, it was upper body strength. 

 

“You fucking wish, you fucking pixie,” Shaun spat, the contusion on his face growing more red by the second. 

 

Kicking and screaming, Ray carried Frank to his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him before he set Frank down. Frank caught himself and spun around to face Ray, knowing that he would never do anything malicious to Ray, even if a gun was pointed at his head. 

 

“He should have fucking called us and told us where Gerard was, that stupid motherfucker!”

 

“You are absolutely right.”

 

“He fucking knew that--”

 

“Yes he did.” 

 

Frank grabbed an empty coffee cup from off the nightstand and shattered it against the wall, the anger and frustration he felt towards both Shaun and Gerard evident in the amount of force he used to throw it.  Seeing that cup shatter was enough for Frank to be able to get a grip on his emotions. 

 

“Are you done?” Ray asked, still leaned against the closed bedroom door. 

 

“Yeah, but I want Shaun fucking gone.”

 

“Alright.” Ray shrugged and let himself out of Frank’s room with the unspoken understanding that Frank was going to stay in his room until he calmed down enough to have a conversation with a level head. 

 

Frank heard the heated conversation from the living room; Mikey didn’t usually shout. 

 

“And you were off where, Gerard? Fucking camping?”

 

“I just needed to get away for a couple days.”

 

“And you thought leaving us with a fucking _suicide note_ was a good idea? Where the fuck is your phone? Why couldn’t you have fucking texted someone to let us know you were still fucking breathing?”

 

“I turned it off, I didn’t--”

 

“You didn’t what, Gerard? Think there were people that were going to be worried about you? Think there were people that were going to file police reports? Think that you had a brother that wouldn’t be able to eat or sleep wondering if you’d been fucking mauled by a goddamn bear? Think that there was some dude having fucking nightmares about how you fucking died? What Gerard, let’s hear it. You didn’t what?!” 

 

Frank could tell by the ensuing silence that Gerard was stunned by Mikey’s outburst. It was rare that Gerard was ever put in his place, and Mikey was the only one that had ever been able to do it. His tone changed then; it was much softer, and much more apologetic. 

 

“I--I’m sorry.” 

 

“Whatever.” 

 

Frank heard the back patio door slide open before it was slammed shut again, presumably by Mikey, and Frank was reminded of how much he needed a cigarette right then. He walked across his room and swung his bedroom door open just in time to catch Gerard right as he was about to knock, fist still raised. They stared at each other for a moment, Gerard praying that Frank said something first even though Frank was too angry with Gerard to say anything useful.

 

“Frank, I--” Gerard’s tone was all apologies and Frank was still to angry for any of it to be heard.

 

“I’m not ready to talk to you, not yet.”

 

He pushed past Gerard, leaving him in the hallway and finding Mikey on the back patio. When he slid the patio door shut he lit a cigarette, the rush of nicotine calming his frayed nerves better than he’d been able to calm them alone. 

 

He moved to sit down next to Mikey, but Mikey wasn’t having it. 

 

“Don’t you try to tell me that you didn’t have a hand in this.”

 

“What? What do you--”

 

“Gerard left because he was frustrated with  _ you _ . As far as I’m concerned, you’re just as guilty as he is.”

 

“Aw, c’mon, that’s not fair!”

 

“Gerard going MIA and making me worry because you two can’t work your bullshit out isn’t fair.”

 

“But Mikey, I--”

 

“Go fucking talk to him because I swear to god if I have to deal with another incident like this…”

 

Mikey trailed off and Frank didn’t even want to know what kind of vengeful scheme was cooking up in his head; when it came to dark and gruesome, Mikey was the only one that was worse than Gerard. He put out the half a cigarette he had left and made his way back into the house. Frank felt like a child that was being made to apologize to a bully after the bully had started it. He resented the situation in it’s entirety. 

 

Frank passed Otter in the kitchen, making himself a sandwich; and the running water coming from the bathroom told him that Ray was taking a shower. He peeked his head into every room that he passed before he finally found Gerard in the bedroom he shared with Mikey while they were writing and recording. 

 

Gerard was sprawled out on the bed with his legs dangling off the edge, as though he’d sat down and just let his body slump the rest of the way. His eyes were closed and Frank couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not, but he didn’t particularly care either. Frank took a step into the bedroom and slammed the door shut behind him, making Gerard jump nearly out of his own skin. 

 

Frank stood close to the bedroom door, his arms folded over his chest. 

 

“Alright, let’s talk about it.” 

 

Gerard looked bewildered for a moment as he sat up on the bed before he processed what was happening and tried to explain himself. 

 

“Look, I just--”

 

“Yeah, I know. You got fed up with me. I get that. You didn’t have to leave us high and dry for two days to prove that point.”

 

“I know, it was stupid. I--”

 

“It was fucking irresponsible. We still have a bunch of shit to track for the album. Mikey was really fucking worried about you. Ray couldn’t even hold us together towards the end.”

 

“And you?”

 

“What about me?”

 

“What were you feeling in all of this?” 

 

Frank looked up to study Gerard’s face. He had a stupid smirk tugging at the corner of his stupid mouth that made his stupid face look just a little lighter. 

 

“I was having nightmares about finding your bear-claw ravaged corpse in the middle of the goddamn woods,” Frank replied very pointedly, staring Gerard down. 

 

“Oh.” 

 

“Yeah, oh. So don’t sit there and look all fucking self-righteous like you’ve won something. I haven’t forgiven you.” Frank moved to sit in the chair opposite Gerard’s bed, his arms still folded firmly over his chest. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Gerard finally stammered, defeat oozing through every syllable. Frank shook his head and bit at the inside of his lip.  He wasn’t ready to let this go yet. 

 

He let the silence settle between them. Gerard chewed his nails and kept his eyes trained on every minute movement that Frank made, and Frank mulled the situation in his head over and over again, the anger slowly dissipating from what felt like the deepest recesses of his soul. 

 

“Everyone knows,” Frank started, “about us.” 

 

“ _Shit._ Really?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Gerard scooted off the bed and down onto his knees in front of where Frank was sitting. He let his palms cover both of Frank’s kneecaps as he looked up into Frank’s face.

 

“Frankie, look, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have thrown a tantrum like that and left. I should have been more respectful of the time you felt you needed and I wasn’t and I’m sorry. I’m an asshole.”

 

Frank looked down at Gerard as he apologized, actually letting himself process the apology he was being given. Finally, he broke. Frank couldn’t be mad anymore. He was grateful to have Gerard back and safe and as much as he hated Gerard for making him feel so anxious, he couldn’t stay mad forever, right?

 

“Yeah, you are an asshole.”

 

Frank unfolded his arms and grabbed for Gerard’s face, pulling him into a kiss that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to feel again. 

 

A while later Frank and Gerard stumbled over each other and out of the bedroom, a mess of wild hair and chapped lips and loaded smiles. The both of them ran headlong into Otter; a cup of coffee in one hand, a sandwich in the other, his mouth full of bread and lunchmeat.

 

“You two are dumbasses.” 

  
  



End file.
